White Flag
by Kaslyna
Summary: Jordan Cavanaugh did not back down. So why did he make her world shatter? Why did every breath he take agonize her?


**A/N: Post-ep for Jump Push Fall, set during the two months not shown on screen in No Place Like Home II. The song is White Flag by Dido, whom I grew up on. It fits almost perfectly for this time period. **

**Disclaimer: Crossing Jordan belongs to Tim Kring and NBC; White Flag belongs to Dido and whomever recorded it.**

_I know you think that I shouldn't still love you,  
Or tell you that.  
But if I didn't say it, well I'd still have felt it  
where's the sense in that?  
I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder  
Or return to where we were  
_

He had told her to fuck off.

She, naturally, did.

Jordan Cavanaugh did not succumb easily to fate. Stubbornly, she fought it with all her might, all her strength, every fiber in her being, and yet, she had been almost submissive. He was the only man to be able to tame her. She remembers the brief conversation she had had with her father over the phone about a month after the ordeal with the mob.

"You are one complicated woman, Jordan," he had chuckled, slightly bemused, "Woodrow Hoyt seems like a good man. He has been the only one to ever get you to back down."

She had been in utter shock, but had thought about it. Shamefully she had to admit that her father was right. Damn Max Cavanaugh for being so observant, but he was right, of course.

She had battled with her feelings, and in haste she had admitted them to Woody. It was a test, a leap of faith, a bout of insanity. Who really knew? Whatever the case, whether it be her getting tired of their strange mating dance or a psychotic break, she had whispered in his ear that she loved him. She supposed she deserved being turned away. She had never known her heart could quite literally shatter into a thousand tiny remnants.

She heaves a weary sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. It was going to be just another long day. Perhaps she would visit the hospital again. Woody had began to begrudgingly allow her to visit, though they could only make small talk. With so many people, dead and alive, to speak with, the thought of a random chat with Woody about the weather (crappy) was unappealing.

_  
I will go down with this ship  
And I won't put my hands up and surrender  
There will be no white flag above my door  
I'm in love and always will be  
_

She gave in, damn it all to hell, Jordan Cavanaugh caved and found herself in the waiting room of the too-sterile hospital.

The nurse, a young brunette named Jodie, guides Jordan into Woody's room. He is awake and frowning, and she sits beside him, not making eye contact. Tears pool in her liquid chocolate eyes.

"Woody, I don't want to fight with you," she croaks in a barely audible, hoarse whisper.

"Jordan…" he sighs, taking her hand in his.

"I know you think I did not mean it, Woody," she chokes back a sob; razors rake across her heart as she admits aloud the truth.

"Jo," he huffs.

"I really mean it, Woody," she murmurs, "I love you. You may not love me, and I thought you did. I misjudged you, I suppose. You're a damn good man, Woody Hoyt. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I just… I just needed to tell you. I don't expect anything."

"Jordan…"

"No, Woody," she shoots him a tired, sympathetic smile before exhaling and continuing, "I'm leaving. You don't need to ask."

He wants to yell after her, but his throat is swelled shut with emotion and his tongue is numb and dry. His heart aches, a broken metronome trying to function, as he watches her, shoulders slumped, retaining her last shred of dignity and hope.

_  
I know I left too much mess and  
destruction to come back again  
And I caused nothing but trouble  
I understand if you can't talk to me again  
And if you live by the rules of "it's over"  
then I'm sure that that makes sense  
_

After three weeks, Woody is released. A homecare nurse, Abigail, will be taking care of him. Jordan brings him home, amiably talking. Her voice is almost chirpy.

She brushes her lips hesitantly against his forehead as she leaves him. Smiling, she murmurs, "Feel better, Woody."

He watches her walk away again in a stunned silence.

Abigail comes then, grinning knowingly. All he feels is moodiness and a quiet indignation as she sets him up.

His thoughts never leave Jordan.

_  
I will go down with this ship  
And I won't put my hands up and surrender  
There will be no white flag above my door  
I'm in love and always will be  
_

He sees a psychical therapist and a psychologist, and is allowed back just six weeks after the shooting. Jordan has remained vigil, diligent beside him. When she is not at the morgue, she is comforting him. It is all she can do. Neither dare utter a word about that night. In their unspoken agreement, he senses a fragile balance. Any mention of that terribly fateful day would upset the balance so greatly.

She is cooking, and a surge of love flows through his heart. He stiffens briefly in surprise, then reassumes his bored position.

"Thank you," he mumbles finally, eyes downcast. He feels her gaze on him, probing, questioning.

"You're welcome," she replies, following an awkward pause, nodding casually.

"I mean it, Jordan," he looks up, "After all I said and did… I don't really deserve your kindness."

"Woody," she sighs, smiling wearily, "You need me. I can feel it in my bones that you need me, whether you'd like to admit it or not. Right now, I'm going to help you in the most platonic way possible."

"Thank you," he repeats.

"You're welcome," she responds in a monotone.

After another brief, awkward, hazardous silence, she returns to the food, humming softly. "She is so beautiful," he thinks to himself, "I screwed up."

_  
And when we meet  
Which I'm sure we will  
All that was there  
Will be there still  
I'll let it pass  
And hold my tongue  
And you will think  
That I've moved on....  
_

She remains living on his couch.

It is the only place she can be; sometimes she watches him sleep, and other times she finds herself on the roof or fire escape, longing desperately for a good smoke. Of course she never gives in; the cost is far too great to bear.

He joins her one hazy evening. She sits on the rooftop of his apartment, staring blankly at the polluted sky. He comes and sits beside her. She notices, but does not dare acknowledge his prescence, fear welling in the pit of her stomach. He rests his head against her shoulder, and she sighs, quivering, struggling to maintain her emotions.

"Woody."

"Jordan."

No one says anything for a long moment, but for once the silence is comfortable, almost amiable.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs.

"So am I," she yawns, "It's so beautiful out here."

"It is," he agrees easily, smiling boyishly at her. She shoots him an impish grin back. They settle together in a tranquil lapse of conversation.

_  
I will go down with this ship  
And I won't put my hands up and surrender  
There will be no white flag above my door  
I'm in love and always will be  
_

He has been back at work for eight days.

He has avoided her, and she is frustrated.

She sits in her office, a migraine coming on.

Sighing, she picks up the fading photograph on her desk. It is of her and Woody in Los Angeles at the Santa Monica Pier. They had had fun that night. She wanted to return to that moment, to her happy place. Her only happy place, she realized sourly. With a wild shriek and yelp, she tosses the frame against the wall. Then she sinks to the floor and sobs. Lily comes in to comfort her eventually. Neither says a word.

_  
I will go down with this ship  
And I won't put my hands up and surrender  
There will be no white flag above my door  
I'm in love and always will be  
_

When her tantrum is over, Jordan goes over and picks up the pieces, wincing slightly as the grass fragments slice her delicate flesh. She ignores the dull, almost muted pains and picks up the undamaged photograph.

Wordlessly, with Lily eyeing her every move warily, she cleans up her mess. Then she tacks the photograph onto the wall and sinks into her seat once more, burying her head in her hands and sobbing. Lily, realizing that Jordan needed to be alone right now, nods to herself, frowning, and leaves. She takes one last hesitant, reluctant look, and instantly wishes she had not.

Lily is not used to seeing Jordan so broken, so mangled.

Her world was crumbling around her; people were changing. Jordan refused to change.

Jordan wanted to stay right where she was.

At the same time, too, she wanted to revisit Los Angeles and the Mojave.

It was all she could do not to completely lose it, not to completely fall apart. She was falling apart, her world literally bursting at the seams.

Jordan Cavanaugh silently stood, burning with quiet, dignified indignation. Then she leaves, shoulders slumped with the weight of the world burdening her shoulders.

_  
I will go down with this ship  
And I won't put my hands up and surrender  
There will be no white flag above my door  
I'm in love and always will be_


End file.
